


Fragments of a Tainted Mind

by Pheasant



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Humor, I will fite, Idk how this happened but I will fight, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Time Travel, M/M, One Shot, Short & Sweet, implied/referenced drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-01-21 05:35:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12450693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pheasant/pseuds/Pheasant
Summary: In which a young speedster takes an old pyromaniac to see the volcanoes, a speedster is hopelessly in love with a dead man, and a young writer has far too much angst on their hands. In a series of short one shots, the world ofThe Flashis explored and its characters explained.





	1. Waking Up One Hungover Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Uh-huh," Mick grunted, leaning back. "Where are we, kid?"
> 
> "...Hawaii? You wanted to see the volcanoes."
> 
> "How drunk was I, kid?"

The lights streamed into the warehouse and Mick, with pounding head and aching eyes, forced himself to look around and understand the situation. What he saw made no sense. He closed his eyes and opened them again, hoping that it would change what he saw. When it did not, he forced himself to speak.

"Who are you?"

The kid in Cookie Monster pajamas grinned and waved. "I'm Bart! I'm from the future. It's a long story, and I don't think I'm allowed to tell you about it. Are you okay, Uncle Mick?"

"I'm fine," Mick rumbled, clumsily reaching for his helmet. "And call me Chronos."

"I don't want to," the kid (his old was he, eight?) protested. "You said Chronos was a stupid, bad man who betrayed his partner. But you're not a stupid bad man! So I'm not gonna!" The kid crossed him arms, all vim and vigor and fired, and all of a sudden Mick found himself smiling.

"Okay, kid, suit yourself. But do you wanna tell me where we are?"

Bart froze, a young kid who didn't want to admit to something wrong. "Noooo?" The 'no' was so drawn out that the lie practically danced on top of it.

"Uh-huh," Mick grunted, leaning back. "Where are we, kid?"

"...Hawaii? You wanted to see the volcanoes."

"How drunk  _was_ I, kid?" He must have been pretty damn drunk if he travelled across a country with a kid in tow.

"....I'm not allowed to say that word," Bart admitted sheepishly. Well, that explained a thing or two. 

"How did we get here?"

"I ran." 

"Across the country?" 

"I'm fast."

"Across the damn  _ocean_?" 

"It wasn't that far, and I've done it before! Besides, I took a rest!"

This is the last time Mick drank alone, he promised firmly. He may not want another partner or another friend, but he definitely needed someone there. Hallucinating kids that could run on water was a bit much, even for him.


	2. Painkiller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever since Barry could remember, he was running. Even when every step brought back a painful memory and the feeling of running itself turned his stomach, he ran. Even if it caused him pain, that pain was far less than what he'd feel if he just stood still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Canonical Character Death

There was never a time where Barry Allen wasn't running. He ran away from bullies since he was old enough to remember and had run into ravenous packs of them for about as long. Every day since his mother died, he was running from Joe and running towards his father. With Iris shining so brightly and embracing life in the moment, he couldn't help but to run after her and try vainly to catch up. He ran towards the truth of what happened to his mother the night she was murdered every day of his life. It was far too fitting that he would become the Flash and all he would be known for was running.

If he could tell the truth, whisper it like a secret that Joe and Cisco would never hear, he hated running. There was no part of running associated with anything good. Even the rush of running at superspeed had been irrevocably tainted. Barry instead loved the moments between sprinting from place to place at the speed of sound. He treasured the friends his speed had brought him, from the nerdy Cisco Ramon to the frosty Caitlin Snow. What he enjoyed the most, however, was the simple moments where a challenge rang in the air and each exchange of words was an intoxicating mixture of fun and infuriating. He looked forward to the chats in a seedy bar where no one was there to listen but the bartender. Even when he stood there and watched his companion play pool, it was far more peaceful and fun than most of his day. Not that he could ever say that aloud, unfortunately.

The highlight of his day, the one who he ran to when he was scared and alone, was a criminal who was hated by his foster father and at best disliked by his friends. His name was Leonard Snart, a snarky thief that was easily the best of the United States (if not the world). The man was a never-ending pool of witty comments and life advice, sprinkled with high walls around any personal information like letting any weakness through would kill him. For the first time in a long time, Barry found a challenge in conversation and ability whether the suit was on or off. Snart always was helpful, even though the help was not always the help that Barry desired (even if it was the help he needed). If given the chance, he could go on for hours unending about the shades and expression of Snart's eyes and how to create them. Yes, he had a crush. No, there was no way he was addressing it (even though he was fairly certain anyone not in severe denial could tell he had one).

After all, even if Snart could have ever liked him back... The cold-hearted criminal was a dead man whose last memory was of another's lips. So he ran and saved everyone he could, running faster and faster to hide the pain that one death brought him. He ran to move on from the simple fact that his friends forgot to mention the death of the one man he had loved. He ran like he was addicted, using it as a painmkikller because reghuilar drugs would never work on him. No, there was nothing good associated with running.


	3. A Day on the Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Metahumans certainly made work more interesting. It was impossible to tell when the puddle of organs reported to the police may just up and walk away. It was also impossible to tell whenever a simple day on the job would end up getting yet another lie stacked upon a CSI's teetering pile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Blood, mentions of emotional manipulation/abuse, just mentions of EoWells in general

The rain splashed on bloody pavement, scarlet steaks running into the grass. A young man, barely thirty, walked into the alley as he smirked at the irony. This wasn't the first time he'd been called out to check out a dead body, and it wouldn't be the last. After all, he was in the forensics department of the police, turning down an order to do his job was hardly in good form. He had seen nearly everything someone could see on the job, which left him far more nightmares than he would ever admit, but he had a feeling this one would be different. As he slipped into the alley and peered around the large green dumpster, he knew that his suspicions had been correct.

Where there had been a bloody pile of guts and gore for the brunet to examine, there was then nothing. All that was left was the large blood stain on the pavement, which was already being washed away. There were no footprints nor any sign of struggle. There was only one thing that could possibly have caused this sort of scene: A metahuman, a poor victim whose body had change without warning nor consent and was suddenly expected to control their powers well. Training was needed to keep a metahuman's powers contained, the brunet knew and not just from word of mouth.

"What have we got, Barry?"

The brunet turned to face his colleague, a friendly blond with a smile like sunshine. Barry tried to return the smile, but it came out more like a wince instead. It would be a long time before he could ever genuinely smile at the blond as if they were truly friends. After all, that blond was the over of the woman he had loved since before he knew what love was. That man was his rival for the one person who mattered the most to him, yet he still worked beside the man daily. After all, admitting weakness was not his strong point.

"There's no body, Eddie," Barry admitted, somehow sounding sheepish as if it was his fault. "There's no trail, just the puddle of blood, and the pictures sent to the CCPD definitely did not look like someone who could just walk away without leaving some sort of mark."

"So it's a metahuman. What are we looking for?" Eddie, the blond, seemed to take it surprisingly well. He took most things well, it was just another aspect of his pleasant personality. If Barry hadn't been so jealous of the perfect cop with the perfect smile and the perfect personality, they probably would have been good friends.

"I don't know," Barry admitted with a sigh. "I'd probably have to check with S.T.A.R. Labs. They're the experts on metahuman stuff, you know. Iris probably has dozens of witness accounts of things like this pouring into her blog, try and check some of them out and figure out a general idea of what happened here. It's possible we stumbled upon someone's body self-destructing due to their powers, then rebuilding itself."

"I'll do that," Eddie agreed. He agreed to readily, and Barry froze as he waited for whatever would come next. "Barry, you're awfully close to everyone at the labs."

"I am," Barry agreed tightly. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's Doctor Wells. I've heard he can be rather... Harsh. Do you two get along well?"

Imagine flashed through Barry's brain faster than he could blink. Harsh gazes, stiff responses, controlling statements and that way the man had to twist everything around and get exactly the results he desired. He remembered every harsh comment to Cisco tht brought him from the top of the world to the lowest point possible, of every time a pointed comment about Barry's father pushed him to move. Without any of those thoughts reaching the surface, Barry smiled without fear of getting caught.

"Of course we get along," he lied. "He's my idol and he likes having someone to teach about science. It's great."


	4. I'm Sorry It's Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It started in winter, it continued with a number, and ended with a grave. Such was the story of Barry Allen and Laurel Lance. It wasn't a romance or a partnership, but a friendship wish whispers in the dark and grieving even when one didn't now the one the were grieving for. It was a broken boy trying his best to be a man who stood on his own, and a determined woman who needed someone to love like a sister and a mother. It was beautiful, no matter how long it lasted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an alternate universe where Laurel and Barry meet and become friends and I like it and it's sad?

It started in winter, when Oliver went to Central City ad Laurel followed him for an importat discussion. Se couldn't very well leave the poor brunet man she found passed out in the middle of the sidewalk, so she brought him with her. Her intention had been to bring him to S.T.A.R. Labs with her, but he woke up and the haunted expression in his eyes when she suggested it quickly made her change her mind.

"Is there a place you can go?" She had asked this sometime during her second loop around the city. "Any family or friends that could take you in."

"I have family and friends," the young man admitted, his eyes staring hard at his hands. "But they're all at the Labs right now. I... I just don't want to go there and get yelled at again."

"They yell at you? What about?" The interrogation hadn't been intentional, just an aspect of her lawyer personality slipping through. However, he didn't seem to mind. In fact, the words rushed out of him like he'd never had the chance to speak them before.

"I don't eat enough, I don't run fast enough, I'm not smart enough, I'm too naive, I'm too friendly, I'm too selfish, I'm not selfish enough," he recited, counting them all on his fingers. "I forgot to eat this morning and that's why I passed out. I'm sorry for troubling you, ma'am. I know that it's late."

The way he seemed genuinely sorry that Laurel picked him up instead of leaving him there ripped her heart into a thousand pieces. She knew, right then, that she had to take care of him.

It continued with a phone number and a promise that the young man, called Barry and apparently one of Oliver's friends, call her whenever he needed to talk or have someone reassure him. He often called in the middle of the night, so apologetic that she wished that she could race there and hug all of his pain and fear away. She couldn't, so soft words over the phone would have to do.

"I'm sorry, Miss Laurel. I know that it's late." Tears tinged the edges of his voice and that alone would have melted all the anger away, if she had been mad in the first place.

"Don't worry, Barry. I don't have work tomorrow, anyway. Dad forced me to take a day off. What's wrong?"

"I... I miss my mom. She... It's her anniversary tonight."

Anyone else would have assumed Barry meant a wedding anniversary. Laurel however, had thought her sister was dead for years and knew what terms like that meant. She knew about Nora Allen's death, about the man in lightning. She knew, somewhere deep down, that Dr. Alle hadn't murdered his wife. She had to believe it, because if she didn't Barry would believe it all on his own and the weight of being the only one who believed would kill him. She knew why he was calling, because she knew how awful grieving alone was- especially if you were grieving alone alongside another person.

"Tell me about her," she said softly, staring out the window and into the city lights. "What was she like?"

"She loved to cook," was the first thing Barry said. "She made soup like no one else, all from scratch and with the skill of a professional. Before she met Dad, she was in culinary school. She switched to real estate, though, because that earned more money. She was always planning ahead for something."

Laurel knew the tones of nostalgia and longing in Barry's voice, knew them like she knew her name and the inside of her office. She knew how to grasp at those fading memories of a mother who was no longer there and who never would be. Those memories were precious, gems of another kind. She was honored to get even a handful of those gems from someone who seemed to be so open but hid so much away behind redirection and a smile. She didn't have to say anything, because Barry would continue anyway.

"She was also Jewish," Barry continued. "I was raised in it a little, I know some things about the holidays and I remember some of the the prayers. But Dad and Joe are Christian, even though they aren't incredibly "hard core" about it and I didn't know anyone else who was Jewish so I stopped practicing after she died. I never really believed in a god after she died, either. I believe in creatures, of people who can do so much more than ordinary people, but I don't believe in a god. Not that I'd tell Joe that. I'm used to celebrating Christian holidays by now."

"I don't really practice religion," Laurel admitted into the silence of her home, almost feeling the words buzzing across the city and into Barry's brain. "But if you ever want to practice again, I have a Jewish friend who could recommend some places and people. If you wanted, that is."

There was a long silence a hesitation that Laurel thought for sure meant that he was going to reject her offer. When he finally spoke, she didn't have much hope in acceptance. But she already knew she wouldn't hold it against him.

"I would like that," he finally said, to her surprise. "Just as long as... You could maybe not mention it to Oliver? I know religion isn't something you should have to hide, but... This is something just for me and I don't want too many people to know.

Without even thinking, she was smiling into the phone. "Of course," she promised. "He'll never have to know."

It ended with a grave, with Laurel dead and no longer of that world and a skinny brunet young man with the weight of the world on his shoulders and the feeling of being completely alone in the world. He knelt in front of Laurel's grave, tears in his eyes as he looked at the stone that did not do justice to the woman it represented. She was a force of nature, a storm and a wall. She was a sister and a daughter and the closest thing to a sister and a secon mother that Barry had. She was cold and she was dead but before that she was alive and she was everything that she wanted and needed to be.Barry refected on tha silently for a good long moment, letting the midnight moon rest its light on his shoulders, before he finally spoke.

"I'm sorry, Laurel," he whispered into the air. "I know that it's late."


	5. A Soul of Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a little ColdFlash-y poem I wrote when bored after exams.

Ice shatters like his soul

Ice blue eyes so cold

Yet holding a secret fire within

The fire of his friend, his sister,

His care for them.

A naive young man said he would do

Anything

For his sister

It sounded like a threat

It was praise

It was true

He saw himself, so small and weak

Not knowing what would ever come to pass

Not knowing who he would be come

He looked down at that weak self

And felt his soul shatter, even more than

It already was, from a lifetime

Of beating, hopelessness and grief

He was flung into a dark pit

Of pain

Of desire

Of nostalgia

And in that pain, he thought of the man

The man of lightning

And kindness

And hope

And praise

That memory fueled him even when

He lost his best friend

And gained him again

But never really had him

Just his face

He remembered an earnest face

A soft smile

A bright smile hiding so much pain it hurt

He remembered it as he held a switch to his own doom

He remembered it like a promise

That face the last thing he remembered

Though a woman's lips met him

And he heard his friend get dragged away

He remembered

Bossy

Arrogant

Rushed and Rushing

Yet the best thing since the golden girl he knew

 

That memory would be the one

To bring him

Back

One more

Time

 

**Author's Note:**

> Why did I write this, and why are you guys reading this? XD


End file.
